


Constant

by sleepdeprivedphilosopher



Series: fate loves a good story [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Kinda, M/M, One Shot, So much angst, still has magic thou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedphilosopher/pseuds/sleepdeprivedphilosopher
Summary: I feel his hot breath against my cold cheeks. We're that close. "I know you're not a gentleman," Snow says. "But I thought—""—Thought what?""That'd even you would give a damn about the state of things," Snow says. "They want us dead, Basil.""Well, we have that in common," I say conversationally. "I do too.""You want us dead?" Snow asks, confused."I want me dead," I clarify. "Obviously."Simon Snow and Basil Pitch have been stuck in the same reincarnation cycle for as long as either of them can remember. Now it is the late 1800s and Basil is tired.So he decides to do something about it.Simon disagrees with his method.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fate loves a good story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694365
Comments: 18
Kudos: 142





	Constant

**Author's Note:**

> hey void, 
> 
> so this probably could use some explanation. this is a part of a larger universe I'm writing for COBB however I think it can be read as a stand-alone. or at least I hope it can. let me know what you think. 
> 
> it doesn't really fit with the flow of things in the current story, but I put enough work into it that I wanted to post it.
> 
> anyway, there's your explanation. or something. thanks for reading. 
> 
> enjoy?

_London 1889_

**Basil**

We've been here before. I've been here before. I'm constantly here. Forever here. I don't know what deity I pissed off enough to get here, but here I am. 

And here he is, always. 

Maybe that should make me upset. You would think it would considering how often he's offed me. You'd think I'd hold a grudge or something. I've tried to. I act like I do. I pretend because that's what he wants from me, and I'm always, always giving him what he wants. 

"Basil," he says, yanking on my arm. "What are you doing?" 

I smile at him. It's sharp. Sharp enough to hide the feelings underneath. The smile I reserve just for him. "What does it look like I'm doing?" I ask while grandly gesturing at our surroundings. 

Snow crosses his arms and glares. It burns with barely restrained violence. It's the glare he reserves just for me. "I never thought _even you_ would sink this low," he spits at me. 

I give him my sharp smile again (his smile). "Oh, I could go lower yet," I say. "You don't know the depths of my depravity, Snow." 

"I could guess," Snow says, yanking on me again. "Come on." 

And I'm helpless against him. He drags me away. My companion (a handsome pale auburn-haired man) looks more amused than annoyed by our abrupt parting. 

Snow gets me outside, and the cold biting into me does little to sober me up (can't sober up a millennium of depression, I've tried). "What do you think you're doing?" He demands of me. 

In answer, I give him an eyebrow. 

Snow throws his hands up before shoving me against the brick. "Those are _vampires_ ," he hisses, "and you are a _mage_." 

I tilt my head at him. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Snow. I hadn't realized." 

I feel his hot breath against my cold cheeks. We're that close. "I know you're not a gentleman," Snow says. "But I thought—"

"—Thought what?" 

"That'd even you would give a damn about the state of things," Snow says. "They want us dead, Basil." 

"Well, we have that in common," I say conversationally. "I do too." 

"You want us dead?" Snow asks, confused. 

"I want me dead," I clarify. "Obviously." 

Snow drops me like I used my fire to burn him (I didn't). "What?" he asks softly. I've taken him aback. 

"I want me dead," I repeat slowly so that he gets it this time. "Why else would a mage walk into a vampire opium den?" 

Snow backs away enough that we are no longer sharing the same air (I'm pathetic enough to miss it). "You can't be serious." 

"As an overdose," I chirp. "Which, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to now." I start around him. 

He grabs my arm and pulls me back. I go without a fight. "Basil" he says. "You can't." 

"Oh, you'll find me more than capable," I say. "Watch me." 

"Basil." Snow keeps saying my name as if it is the secret to my cooperation (it isn't, really, he should know better than that). "You can't just let them kill you!" 

"Saves you the trouble, doesn't it?" I drawl and Snow actually flinches. Interesting. "What, did you want to do it yourself?" 

"No," Snow says. "I mean—I don't—" 

I give him the most condescending look I can muster while intoxicated on vampire venom and opium. "Take your time." 

"Basil," Snow says and actually shakes me a little. "This isn't supposed to—" 

And that's my breaking point. 

"Maybe I'm tired of the way things are supposed to be!" I exclaim shoving him away. "Tired of always dying! Tired of always being killed by you! Tired of living this same bullshit over and over again! Tired of living with this—" 

_Pathetic love_

I cut myself off. Even now, I can't tell him. He can never know. 

"Basil," Snow whispers reaching for me. 

I jerk back from him. "Just leave me alone, Snow. You owe me that, don't you? Owe me the chance to die the way I want to for once." 

"No," he says. "No." 

"Don't give me that," I say. "You'll see me soon enough, won't you?" 

Snow looks stricken. "Basil—" 

"—You don't even want me here," I yell at him. "So just let me go." 

"I can't," Snow says. 

"Why not!" 

"I just can't," Snow says, recovering enough to look stubborn again. 

"Well," I say. "You should because I don't care what you think about it. I'm going back in there. Whether it be tonight or tomorrow or a week from now, I'm going back in there." 

"I won't let you." He's stuck his chin out, a classic sign of Simon Snow determination. 

"You can't stop me," I say menacingly. 

"Yes, I can," he says. 

"Why?" I ask. "Why do you care how I die? Are you really that hung up on being the last thing I see?" 

"Think about your family," Snow says, shoving past my words. "Think about what this would do to them!" 

"Oh, now you even care about my family," I say dryly. "That's a new one." 

"They're people Basil," Snow yells. "Of course, I care!" 

"You don't always see them that way," I tell him. "Your guardian certainly doesn't see them that way." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Snow says. "They're mages. We have to present a united front against the vampires, or they'll wipe us out."

"As long as the united front is his, you mean," I say. "As it always is. He never changes, but at least he has the excuse of never remembering. You do so, what's yours?" 

"This isn't about Mr. Bane." 

"It's always about Mr. Bane," I say. "Or whatever his name is at the moment. If you even bothered to pay attention, you'd realize that, but at this point, you're a hopeless case. You'll never get it. You'll always just do what he says, blindly life after life. Merlin, doesn't it ever get old?" 

"Just stop," Snow says. "Just stop and come on. This isn't you." 

"And what do you know about me?" I say, softly. 

**Simon**

What do I know about him? What don't I know about him? We've spent countless lives together, and I'm supposed to not know him? 

I know that he always has long hair, even when it isn't fashionable. I know he's allergic to strawberries. I know what he looks like when he's upset but trying to hide it. I know how he looks when he's happy and trying to hide that more. 

I know that he never goes anywhere without a proper waistcoat. I know that he takes the time to shine his shoes every morning, even when it is entirely unnecessary. 

I know that he writes to his younger sister as often as he can. I know his effortlessly neat handwriting, and I know how he feels about whatever he is writing based on how hard he is pressing the quill into the paper. 

I know that he's always running out of candles because he spends too much time up at night reading or practicing spellwork. 

I know that he walks like he's royalty, a habit left over from when he _was_ royalty. I know that he's never been good with a sword even when it was common to carry one. I know that he drinks his tea with four sugar cubes and that he's been drinking it that way ever since it became available to him in the late 1600s. I know that even now, with coffee's growing popularity, he won't drink it. 

I know the feel of his magic, hot and fiery with the weight of age to it that mirrors my own. 

I know his eyes are deep water gray, but sometimes they look greener. I know they always turn flat and dull when he dies. 

I know the feel of him in my arms. 

I know him and _this_ whatever it is that he's doing right now, isn't him. Tyrannus Pitch has never gone down without a fight in all the lives I've known him. 

And I refuse to let him. 

"We're supposed to have more time," I tell him now. 

"Don't be naive," Basil says. "We never have time, and why would you want it? This will all be happening again before you know it. I just won't be there this time." 

_I won't be there._

No impossible. Basil is always there. He's my constant. It can't end like this. 

"You're not thinking clearly," I say, taking note of the teeth marks on his neck (his collar is unbuttoned, and he's missing his overcoat). "Once we're back at Watford—" 

"—Did you not hear me?" he interrupts. "I'm not going back." 

"Yes." I take his arm again and pull him alongside me. "You. Are." 

He digs his heels in. "No. I'm. Not." 

"Basil," I keep tugging, "come on, you're acting mad." 

"Mad is better than the alternative," he says, still fighting against me. 

"What's the alternative?" I ask despite knowing better than to ask. 

"Exhausted resignation," Basil says. "Tired compliancy." 

"Come on," I say, and since I'm stronger than him (and more stubborn), I succeed in dragging him with me. 

We make it a few blocks (he's still fighting me) before he stops abruptly, causing me to stumble. I turn my head around to look at him. "What is it now?" I ask. 

He's giving me an odd look, and despite how long I've known him, I've never seen that emotion on his face before. "Why are you doing this?" he asks me quietly. "Why do you want me to live?" 

I don't know what to say. Nothing sounds right. Because I never actually want to kill you? Because I've always hated that we're forced to fight? Because I want you to live as long as possible? 

_Because the thought of you not being there is too awful to imagine._

"I just do," I say. "Come on." 

He's still staring at me, but something goes out in his gray eyes. Whatever emotion he was feeling a second ago is gone now. 

I said the wrong thing. 

But he doesn't fight me on the way back.

**Author's Note:**

> this work was completed and posted at 8:32 on a wednesday morning. I haven't slept at all but hey the world is on fire right now so who needs a sleep schedule, am I right?
> 
> -still sleep deprived.
> 
>   
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


End file.
